


Mingling Souls

by Spacecadet72



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 13:32:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2774831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spacecadet72/pseuds/Spacecadet72
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Henry goes traveling following Abe's death. But instead of simply running, he writes to Jo while he's gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mingling Souls

**Author's Note:**

> A big thanks to [idelthoughts](http://archiveofourown.org/users/idelthoughts) and my friend Erika for all their help in beta'ing this fic and talking me through my insecurities. :D
> 
> Title is in reference to this quote: 
> 
> "More than kisses, letters mingle souls,  
> For thus, friends absent speak."  
> -John Donne, Verse Letter to Sir Henry Woton

_March 2020_

Jo checks the mailbox, knowing she shouldn’t get her hopes up, knowing that it will just make it worse when she opens the lid and finds only bills, junk mail and a reminder card from her dentist.

It hasn’t been that long since his last letter, she reminds herself. She shouldn’t be expecting another one for at least a few more days.

She takes the stack of envelopes out of the mailbox, flipping through them with more anticipation than she knows is smart and walks back to the house.

Her smile widens as she feels the heavy weight of the fancy envelopes he uses halfway through the stack. She flips through the rest of the envelopes, not bothering to see who they’re from, until she gets to his letter. Her name and address are written on the front with what she knows is high quality ink and an antique fountain pen.

She smiles, shaking her head as she tries to imagine him writing on computer paper with something as simple as a cheap BIC pen and can’t. She remembers clearly the time that he began ranting about the death of letter writing and how the shoddiness of today’s writing supplies had helped lead to that. Along with the internet, of course. Their latest case had involved handwritten letters left at the scene, and her question of who even writes letters anymore? had set him off. She could still see his arms waving wildly, as she and Abe had shared smiles when he wasn’t looking.

Now in the house, she sets the rest of the mail on the kitchen table and slides her finger under the edge of the envelope, tearing it open.

His letters were always long, his penmanship perfect. She wonders occasionally if he minds getting letters scrawled on computer paper and lined loose-leaf, but then shrugs and keeps sending them. It's his fault for not having email.

She'd told him to keep in touch, send her a few postcards, so it was with a smile and an affectionate shake of her head that she had pulled the first thick, high quality envelope out of her mailbox a few weeks later.

The return address had said California and while she wasn’t surprised at the method of communication, she had been surprised that he was still in the States. When he’d said he would be traveling, she had just assumed he meant somewhere foreign. But then again, she'd supposed, when you have eternity, you didn't have limit yourself.

She had read and reread that first letter so often that the words written in the creases of the paper were faded and illegible in some places. She had been afraid that he wouldn’t keep in touch, that it had been the alcohol they had consumed when she’d asked talking or he was just trying to let her down nicely. She had been afraid that she would never see him again, and after five years of close friendship and a perfected working relationship, she wasn’t ready to give him up yet. She had been afraid that losing Henry, along with everyone else who had gone, would prove too much, that she wouldn’t be able to handle yet another loss.

But then that first letter had arrived, and she’d greedily read all about his time on the west coast, how he compared the weather in Seattle, especially in those winter months, to that of London, how the rain had been a comforting familiarity. She read about his trip down the Oregon coast, and how beautiful the Pacific Ocean was, even when the sky was overcast and beach attire called for rain gear instead of shorts and sandals. She read about his visit to the Golden Gate Bridge and how the last time he’d been there the bridge hadn’t been complete, and it hadn’t been painted it’s trademark orange. (He’d used the word  _vermillion_ and she had rolled her eyes. Why couldn’t he just say orange?)

She was glad he was getting out there, and trying to follow Abe’s admonition to really live, but what worried her most was that throughout the entire five page letter, front and back, there wasn’t a single mention of Abe.

\-----

_October 2019_

As soon as she heard the news, she headed down to the morgue. She caught Lucas’ eye as she walked in, and he gestured towards Henry’s office, his expression serious and awkward, like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do.

She found him sitting at his desk. A case file was open in front of him, but his face was blank and his eyes weren’t on the file.

He looked up as she entered the room and she could see that his eyes were wet and red, the skin around them blotchy. He nodded stiffly at her approach, but the movement was automatic.

"Detective." He acknowledged, his voice rough and hollow.

"What do you need?" she asked, her voice low and soft as she stopped next to his desk. She didn't reach out to touch him yet.

He tried to smile, to put on a good front, but it came out more of a grimace. He didn’t answer her question.

She moved closer to him, kept her voice soft as she spoke again. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

He didn’t fight her on it, simply nodded and rose out of his seat. Jo gave him a sad smile and then walked towards the door as he removed his lab coat.

Jo looked back as he was putting on her coat, and even that simple act caused her heart to ache. His movements were mechanical and stiff, his expression unfocused. Gone was the fluidity, the flair for dramatics that usually accompanied his actions.

Once his coat was buttoned, and looking perfect, he walked over to join her by the door. When she didn’t open it, he turned to look at her, questioning.

She reached her arm out to gently touch his arm. He turned to look at her and he looked so entirely wrecked that even though this wasn’t her original plan, she pulled him into a hug, holding him tight against her.

He stiffened at first, but soon relaxed against her, his arms circling around her in return.

"I'm here if you need anything, okay?" she murmured in his ear.

She felt him nod and then he pulled away, straightening his jacket as he stepped back.

He nodded again, as if he wasn’t entirely sure what to do next, and followed her out of the office.

When they arrived at the antique shop, Jo wasn’t willing to leave Henry alone, so she sent Hanson a text to let him know and followed Henry inside.

Henry removed his scarf, taking extra care to set it down on one of the tables in the front of the shop and turned to Jo.

"Thank you for the ride, Detective. I'll let you get back to the precinct. I'm sure there's lots of work to do." His voice hadn’t lost that stiff, hollow quality. That clinched it. She was staying.

She removed her coat and set it on the back of her chair. "Hanson's got it covered. It's almost dinner time anyway. Does Chinese sound okay?" she pulled out her cell phone, already pulling up the number for the Chinese place a couple blocks down. She looked up at him and he seemed to be struggling to find the right words. She softened her voice again and lowered her phone to give him her full attention. "Henry, it's alright."

He nodded, looking grateful and she ordered the food as he went to hang up their coats.

Later, after they'd eaten and the bottle of wine Henry had dug up-a 1964 Bordeaux that he and Abe had been saving-had been mostly drunk and they'd both shared countless stories, he leaned back and cleared his throat. Neither of them had dry eyes and Henry looked completely rumpled. Even buzzed, Jo felt alarm bells going off in the back of her mind and uneasiness settle deep in her chest.

"I'm going to go away for awhile." He said finally, not looking at her.

She wasn’t entirely surprised, but she still felt panic replace the uneasiness. She wasn’t sure she could lose them both. Not all at once.

The panic was immediately joined by a wave of guilt. This wasn't about her. If Henry needed to get away for a while then it would be good for him.

She just hoped this wasn’t really goodbye. She’d known this day would come, she had just convinced herself that it wasn't time yet. He'd been at the OCME for eight years now and she knew it was getting more and more difficult for him to avoid suspicion when he looked the same he did the day they met.

“Where are you going to go?” she asked, reaching for her glass.

He shrugged, shaking his head. “I’m not entirely sure. Abe told me once that if he had my... _condition_ , that he would do everything. I haven’t been living life to the fullest. I owe him that.”

\-----

_September 2020_

Jo is running out the door one morning when she realizes that she never checked the mail the day before. Henry’s letters are usually several weeks apart, but she’s gotten in the habit of checking daily, and the possibility of a new letter is enough for her to keep up the habit. She lifts up the lid of the mailbox, and smiles when she sees his letter. She knows she doesn’t have enough time to read it before work, so she grabs the letter and throws it in her purse before getting into her car.

It isn’t until her lunch break that she’s able to pull the letter out and read it. She tries to keep crumbs off the paper as she scarfs down her sandwich and reads about where his travels have taken him. This time he’s in London. He’d gotten there a few letters ago, but according to this one he’ll be leaving in a few days. She’s a little sad at that. If he can’t stay in New York, then she would like for him to be able to settle down somewhere else, not spend years as a drifter.

“New letter from the Doc?”

She looks up to see Hanson, gesturing at the letter in her hand as he sits down across from her.

“He’s the only one who’d use that fancy paper. Probably calls it parchment or something ridiculous.” he says with an affectionate roll of his eyes.

Jo smiles. “Yeah, he’s in London now.”

“Good for him. He can stop complaining about our tea now.” Hanson says as he took a bite of his own sandwich.

Jo laughs. That had become a point of contention at the station a few years back. Hanson had let Henry know that there were tea bags next to the coffee machine in the break room, and that had led to a ten minute lecture on the origin of tea and why loose tea leaves were in fact superior to tea bags. Hanson still isn’t over it.

Hanson swallows, and clears his throat. “How’s he doing?”

Jo glances down at the letter before looking back up at Hanson. “He’s doing well, I think. He sounds a lot better than he did.”

He nods. He may not know the whole truth about Henry but he does know that Abe had been the last family Henry had left. They had never been very close, but there was real affection there.

“That’s good. That’s good to hear.” he says, with another nod.

They both go back to their lunches, and Jo continues reading the letter. Abe may have been Henry’s family, but he has people here too, if he ever makes his way back.

\-----

_May 2023_

It will hit her at the most random times now. Her husband is dead. It used to be a constant ache. Everything from the food she ate, to what strangers on the street were wearing, to the television shows she would turn on at night used to remind her of Sean and it would hurt so much she almost couldn’t breathe.

It’s been almost ten years now and the ache has dulled and when the reminders come now, she can usually just smile at the memory and keep going.

But every once in a while, it will hit her again, and it will feel like she’s back in 2014, getting the phone call that he was never coming home. Henry was right. It never goes away, it just takes a more backstage role, coming into the spotlight infrequently.

Like today. Henry’s newest letter is in her mailbox when she gets home from work and she tears through the envelope, not even taking her coat off before pulling the letter out and reading it. It has been an extra few weeks since his last letter and she has been impatient in waiting for it.

Henry has been touring Europe, visiting all of the WWI and WWII sites, reliving old memories, and saying goodbye to old ghosts.

About halfway through his letter, he writes about visiting the spot where he first met Abigail and Abe. It doesn’t look anything like it had back in the 40’s, but if he closes his eyes, and pretends he was 80 years in the past, he can imagine how she had looked, so beautiful and full of life and wonder, holding their son in her arms.

It never goes away.

It certainly hadn’t been love at first sight with Sean-in fact, it had taken her months to even start tolerating him-but she could remember the first time she had looked at him and thought that he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

She hasn’t thought of that day in several years. She was meeting him for lunch one day. There had been nothing special about it. No big case, no special reason for the date, just lunch with the guy she was seeing. He had gotten to the restaurant first and as the waitress had led her around to their table, she saw him, looking down at his phone and smiling at something on the screen and it was like she was seeing him for the first time, her heart almost hurt with how much she loved this man.

And then she had sat down and they had eaten something completely normal, she can’t even remember now, probably that day’s special. And then he had proposed and they were married. And then he was gone.

She is good most days, she really is. She hasn’t found anyone new to share the breakfasts and dinners, but she has a solid support network of friends and family and coworkers that she can lean on and most of the time, she's happy. But she knows that Henry is feeling what she is feeling. It doesn’t matter that he has been alone for much longer than she has. It never goes away, and she wishes she could lean over and rest her hand on his or pull him into a hug and let him, and herself know, that they aren't alone.

\-----

_January 2026_

“Who’s sending you letters that look like that?”

“What?” Jo looks to where her friend, Katy, is pointing. One of Henry’s letters is peeking out of her purse and the quality of the paper, along with the small bit of Henry’s handwriting that can be seen, makes the envelope stand out. Especially since Jo wasn’t one to bother with anything fancier than what she could get at the nearest grocery store.

“They’re from a friend who’s been doing some extended traveling. We used to work together.”

Katy is nodding, looking thoughtful as she sips at her coffee. They try to get coffee together every few weeks to catch up, but it’s been a while since they’ve last seen each other. “Wait, is this that ME? The weird one you were telling me about?”

Jo nods. “Yeah, Henry. He had a death in the family and needed to get away for a while. He decided to stay overseas.”

Katy looks interested. “This is the hot one, right? I need to see his picture again.”

“You’re married, Katy, you should not be this interested in a man who isn’t a celebrity.”

Katy gives her a look. “You say that like it’s relevant information. I just want to look. Besides, you said he was out of the country, right? So we’re fine.”

Jo suppresses her smile and just shakes her head before reaching into her pocket to grab her phone.

She has one picture of Henry on her phone. They each have an arm around each other, and he’s wearing his lab coat. They’re both smiling widely, happy. She had taken it one afternoon after they’d closed a case, and she’d made a comment about how she didn’t have any pictures of him. Jo had pulled out her phone before going to stand over by Henry. She hadn’t expected for Henry to be as on board with the idea, but he had moved in closer to her without a complaint and smiled big for the camera.

She stares at the picture for a few seconds before handing it over to Katy. She had forgotten about it actually, and hasn’t looked at it in a long time. She’s certainly aged since the picture was taken, over a decade ago. And Henry hasn’t. It hits her then just how weird it is to know that she’s sitting here in a coffee shop in New York looking every bit almost 50 and he’s wandering around Europe looking like the picture had been taken yesterday.

“How did you get any work done with a coworker who looks like that?” Katy asked, bringing Jo out of her thoughts.

Jo’s smile returns and she takes the phone back from Katy, despite her friend’s protests. “It’s called professionalism.”

“Sounds like way too much effort.”

Jo rolls her eyes, and takes one last look at the picture before putting her phone back into her pocket.

\-----

_July 2028_

Jo is surprised when she gets another letter from him with a return address of California. She hasn’t expected to see that he was back in the States, especially since his latest letters have made it sound like he had begun to settle down again in France. That has certainly made writing letters back to him easier, instead of hoping he was still where he had been last. She is pretty sure he has missed several of her letters over the years.

It hasn’t even been ten years since he’d last been in California, when he’d sent that first letter. She doesn’t let herself think that perhaps he is making his way back to her, that she might actually get to see him again.

She gets her answer as to why he’s returned to California when she opens the letter and it begins with complaints about the long lines, and the heat and the crowds at Disneyland. He says he doesn’t understand how it can be called the Happiest Place on Earth and she has to stifle a giggle at the image of Henry in a three piece suit and scarf frowning at the other patrons of the park, and probably receiving several odd looks in return.

Her smile fades somewhat, turning soft and sad when he goes on to tell her about how Abe had begged him and Abigail to take him when he began seeing advertisements for the construction of the park on television. Henry had shown her pictures, whole albums, of their little family and Jo could easily picture the look on a young Abe’s face in the 1950s as he tried to convince his parents that traveling to the other side of the country to go to a theme park was an excellent idea. But California was a long way from New York and they never did make it there. She remembered an older Abe reminding Henry about the injustice of never having been to Disneyland, and Henry’s logical reminders of why they had never gone. Their father son relationship is so blatant sometimes, she can't believe she ever missed it.

Maybe it’s the fact that he’s repeating locations and it’s making her feel nostalgic, but she rifles through the shoebox she keeps his letters in until she finds that first one, towards the bottom. She unfolds the well worn paper, and rereads the familiar words, seeing now, just as she did when she first read it, the pain between every word and every line. The complete lack of any mention of his son is in complete contrast with his later letters, where he shares stories she’d never heard, and some she had, about Abe and Abigail. There had even been a few stories about Nora, but those had been sparse, and much less detailed than the stories of his son.

She goes back to the letter she had received that morning and her smile grows wider as she sees just how different the two letters are. She isn’t shocked. It’s been years since he left, and this isn't the first letter to show a change, but seeing the letters side by side gives her further proof that he’s doing just fine. She puts both letters in the shoe box, and gets ready for bed, the smile never quite leaving her face.

\-----

_August 2028_

Jo pauses outside the front doors of the precinct, as she looks through her purse for her keys.

“I see you’ve taken up running again. Good for you. Jogging is excellent for your health.”

Jo looks up sharply, her hands going still at the voice. Henry is standing a few feet in front of her, looking like he has stepped out of 2019. Her purse hangs loosely off of her arm and she just stands there, looking at him.

Everything about him is the same, from his clothes to his expression to the number of lines on his face. She knows he doesn't age and had seen a little of what that meant before he left, but seeing him standing there after almost ten years with no hint that all that time had passed is a bigger shock than she has imagined.

She doesn't say anything for several moments and they just stand there, both silent as she tries to process the fact that he’s back.

His hands are in his pocket, and he has a smug grin on his face, but she knows him well, and she can see the apprehension behind the expression.

She takes a deep breath and pushes past the shock. This is still weird, but it doesn’t mean he isn’t still one of her best friends. She walks over to him, stopping just in front of him. “Well, not all of us can stay in prime condition forever, I’ve got to battle old age somehow.” she can see him retreating, guilt and sadness obvious in his face at the reminder that she’s getting older. She punches him on the arm, and he flinches, but doesn't complain. “It's good to have you back. You’ll have to tell me all the stories you couldn’t fit into your letters.”

Henry smiles and gestures towards where he knows her car is parked. “I hope you’ve got some time then, Detective.”

Jo loops her arm through his, and returns his smile. “It’s your lucky night. I’m completely free.”

**Author's Note:**

> The reference Henry makes about his first visit to the Golden Gate Bridge is a reference to this fic by idelthoughts. [(x)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2523689/chapters/5648594)
> 
>  The picture on Jo's phone. [(x)](http://instagram.com/p/tI6UZ7RVPN/?modal=true)


End file.
